


To Build a Home

by nondeducible



Series: The Perseids [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, It will rot your teeth, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Romance, pure one hundred percent unfiltered fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 21:19:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4034956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nondeducible/pseuds/nondeducible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock knew, with the kind of unshakeable faith he rarely experienced in his life, that throughout the entire history of the universe, cosmic stardust had never and would never coalesce into a being more perfect than John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Build a Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astudyinotters753](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinotters753/gifts).



> Fic commission for astudyinbrownies. If you want a tailor made fic too, check out my [commission info.](http://nondeducible.tumblr.com/post/118344134009/fic-commissions-donations) This fic was beaten into shape by kinklock and writemeastoryofsolitude who ruthlessly corrected my hatred of commas and past tenses. For extra fluff [listen to this while reading.](https://soundcloud.com/user760217/that-home-cinematic-orchestra)

John’s heart was somewhere in his throat when Sherlock parked their car in front the Holmes house. He and Sherlock hadn’t spoken or even dared to look at each other since John’s wholly accidental admission that he was going to propose. John tried to explain and smooth things over straight away, but as soon as Sherlock started breathing again he begged John to stop talking. Sherlock seemed unable to process the prospect of becoming engaged, talk about it and drive at the same time, and since at that point the traffic had started to move again, John let the matter drop. Sherlock spent the rest of the drive looking anywhere but John, emotions ranging from disbelief to confusion, to judge by his facial expressions. John tried very hard not to take it as a bad sign but deep down he feared he had managed to absolutely, completely fuck this up.

Sherlock shot out of the car as soon as the engine was off. John lingered for a bit, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He got out of the car and went round the back to help Sherlock with the bags. Sherlock was vibrating with nervous energy and still refused to look at John directly. John steeled himself for a very awkward weekend and bent down to pick up his bag. Sherlock’s gentle hand on his arm stopped him.

“John.” Sherlock sounded unsure. John waited silently for Sherlock to stop his inspection of the gravel beneath his feet.

“What you said-- the thing in the car-- when-- that is,” Sherlock huffed and pursed his lips in annoyance at his own lack of eloquence. He stepped into John’s personal space and fiddled with the front of John’s shirt. John’s hands came up to rest on Sherlock’s hips automatically and he caressed his sides in what he hoped was a soothing gesture.

“Can we wait at least until later tonight before we talk about it?”

“Sure. Yeah.” John hoped his face didn’t look as miserable as his voice sounded. Sherlock looked up and studied John’s face for several seconds.

“Oh,” Sherlock exhaled softly. He let go of John’s shirt only to wrap his arms around John’s shoulders. He hid his face in John’s neck. “I’m not saying no. It’s just-- a lot. Very quickly. I would never say no, John.”

John sighed a breath of relief and felt the tension bleed out of him almost instantly. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist and hugged him closer. “Okay,” he said, fighting a smile without much success. “Okay,” he repeated, more to reassure himself, and kissed the closest patch of exposed skin, which happened to be Sherlock’s collarbone. “In that case let’s go inside so I can charm your parents even more.”

Sherlock snorted. “If you’re not careful my mother is going to adopt you.”

“You know, having parents that love you to bits is not as bad as you make it sound.” John squeezed Sherlock’s waist one last time before stepping away and grabbing his bag. Sherlock followed suit and rang the doorbell. Sounds of great excitement and commotion could be heard from inside, followed by hurried footsteps towards the front door. Sherlock couldn’t suppress an eye roll while John just grinned.

The front door flew open to reveal Mr Holmes with a huge smile on his face, and his ever present glasses dangling from a chain around his neck.

“Sherlock! John! Oh, the dreadful traffic these days, Margaret has been frantic with worry all day. Come in, come in, you must be tired. Through to the sitting room, drop your bags there boys. Margaret wants to see you but she’s stuck in the kitchen, you see.”

Mr Holmes’ idle and pleasant chatter washed over them both as they were ushered into the house and the sitting room. Even though it was almost unbearably hot outside, the house was cool. The windows were wide open, a light breeze making the curtains sway gently. The breeze brought in the smell of flowers growing in the front garden and the soft buzzing of bees.

In any other place Sherlock would deem this kind of peace and tranquility hateful and boring but his parents’ house was strangely calming and soothing. Time seemed to slow down here, but not in such a way that made him want to crawl up the walls in boredom. Time felt infinite and endless in this small bubble of serenity. The older Sherlock got the more he appreciated this house and the atmosphere his parents created. He understood now that the walls of this house were filled with love and it permeated the very air he breathed, and he himself yearned for the same. He could see himself settling down somewhere like this in his old age, wherever it was, as long as John was there with him.

Sherlock was shaken out of his reverie by John gently tugging on his hand and interlacing their fingers together.

“You okay, love?”

“Hmm? Yes, yes, fine,” Sherlock answered distractedly. John was still looking up at him with concern so Sherlock bent down to press a chaste but firm kiss to his lips. “I’m fine. Let’s go see Mummy.”

In the kitchen they were greeted with Mrs Holmes up to her elbows in pastry and what looked like a flour explosion all over the kitchen table.

“Oh, Sherlock, I was so worried after you called! Are you alright? You didn’t overheat in the car did you?”

“I’m fine, Mummy, it was just a bit of traffic,” Sherlock said as he carefully placed a kiss on Mrs Holmes’ cheek, all the while trying to avoid getting covered in flour.

“Hello, Mrs Holmes,” John placed a kiss on her other cheek and gave her a hug, not caring a whit about the flour.

“John, darling, stop with this Mrs Holmes nonsense. Call me Margaret, or better yet call me Mum. You are part of the family, as far as Thomas and I are concerned,” Mrs Holmes said with a twinkle in her eyes, ignoring John’s vague noises of protest and Sherlock’s sudden blush.

“Do you need help with the pastry?” John said, deftly steered the conversation back to neutral ground. Sherlock busied himself with poking around the various bowls of ingredients assembled on the kitchen table and occasionally nibbling on something sweet.

“Oh, that would be marvellous. Are you sure you’re not too tired after the journey?”

“Not at all, Mrs Hol-- Margaret,” John said hesitantly. Mrs Holmes beamed at him with pride. She handed him a bowl of partially mixed pastry and turned her attention to Sherlock.

“Sherlock, go find your father and get some pillows down from the loft. You’re in your old room and don’t worry, darling,” she added quickly before Sherlock could do no more than open his mouth. “I haven’t touched a thing, I promise.”

Mollified, Sherlock wandered out into the house in search for his father. As soon as the kitchen door closed behind him Mrs Holmes turned to John with a grin.

“John, have I ever told you about Sherlock’s penguin collection?”

John grinned in response as he rolled up his sleeves. “I would be delighted to hear _everything_ about Sherlock’s penguin collection.”

:::

Well after dinner, after the sun had finally set and the cloudless sky became an endless expanse of dark dotted with stars, the Holmes family (which now firmly included John) sat outside in the back garden. The night was warm and the conditions were perfect for watching the Perseid meteor shower.

Mrs Holmes was talking to John about astronomy, a long held hobby and passion of hers, while Sherlock and his father sat in comfortable silence.

“Do you remember watching this when you were young?” Mr Holmes asked his son. Sherlock shook his head without looking away from the sky. “You made wishes whenever you saw a falling star. One wish, really. You only wanted to meet another pirate to have adventures with.”

“Is this the part where you tell me John is my pirate?” Sherlock couldn’t keep the exasperation from his voice.

“I would never say anything so trite,” his father chuckled and patted his arm.

They fell into comfortable silence after that, John and Mrs Holmes also having finished their conversation. The four of them sat watching the clear night sky and the stars falling for a little while.

“Well,” Mrs Holmes said as she got up from her chair. “I think it’s time your father and I retire for the evening. No arguments, Thomas.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Mr Holmes smiled at his wife fondly. Everyone got up from their chairs ready to go back into the house. Mr Holmes folded the blanket he used to cover his legs and handed it to Sherlock. “You should go out to the field and watch the stars from there. Less lights from the village.”

“Oh, brilliant idea! Don’t use that flimsy thing though, let me get you a proper blanket,” Mrs Holmes snatched the blanket from Sherlock’s hands and disappeared inside the house before Sherlock even had the chance to open his mouth. He frowned at the retreating silhouette of his mother.

“It does sound rather nice, actually,” John said as he walked up to Sherlock’s side and slid his hand into Sherlock’s. “Wouldn’t want to miss the rest of it.”

“You do realise the Perseid meteor shower happens once a year on exactly the same date,” Sherlock raised his eyebrows at John. “It’s in no way more or less special than last year’s or the next, in fact--”

John cut Sherlock’s tirade short by kissing him gently. Sherlock tried to glare at him but John’s fond look and smile were too infectious, and he felt his own lips twitch in response.

“I think it’s a little bit special this year,” John murmured and kissed him again, longer this time. John gently licked and bit at Sherlock’s lower lip before ending the kiss, and Sherlock couldn’t help but lean into John a bit more, chasing after his lips. A small sound escaped him and John pecked him once more, chuckling.

“There you go,” Mrs Holmes chose that moment to arrive laden with an enormous blanket. John disentangled himself from Sherlock and took the blanket from her. “Don’t stay out too late, boys.”

Mrs Holmes gave both of them a fond look before she turned to her husband and took his hand. Mr Holmes beamed at them from the back door of the house before he closed it and followed his wife upstairs to bed.

Sherlock wordlessly took John’s hand and began walking out into the fields.

The horizon and the sky were indistinguishable in the complete darkness. Above them, the faint outline of the Milky Way cut across the sky. They were lying down on the blanket, among tall grasses, the sounds of crickets their only companion. They held hands, John’s thumb rubbing shapeless patterns into Sherlock skin. John was pointing at the sky, talking about Orion’s belt and the Andromeda galaxy, the Milky Way and Mars, Venus and Mercury. Sherlock was only half paying attention to any of it, he was watching something far more interesting and breathtaking. He was watching John.

Once his eyes adjusted to the dark Sherlock could see John’s silhouette. He could see his profile as he talked, and he fancied he could see the starlight reflected in his eyes which were as dark as the night sky. Sherlock knew, with the kind of unshakeable faith he rarely experienced in his life, that throughout the entire history of the universe, cosmic stardust had never and would never coalesce into a being more perfect than John Watson.

After a few minutes John fell silent, having exhausted his knowledge of astronomy. He gazed up at the sky in wonder, smiling every time he spotted a falling star. Sherlock couldn’t take his eyes off him.

“John,” Sherlock said as he rolled over to face him. John was still entranced by the stars.

“Mmm?”

“John,” Sherlock said with a bit more urgency in his voice and tugged on John’s hand. John finally turned his head to look at Sherlock and whatever he was about to say died on his lips when he saw Sherlock’s face. He rolled onto his side to face Sherlock and scooted closer.

“You okay?” John asked and used his free hand to brush away the curls from Sherlock’s forehead.

“John,” Sherlock said again, apprehension and doubt creeping into his voice. He tugged the hand John was still holding and brought it to his chest. He held John’s hand between his own, absolutely sure John could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest. “John, could you-- that is-- you could--”

John’s forehead scrunched up with worry.

“Sherlock--”

“Ask me,” Sherlock breathed out in a rush. He could feel his heart rate tripling.

“Ask you what?” John looked puzzled. Sherlock nearly groaned in frustration which came out more like a whimper.

“Ask me. What you said in the car-- ask me. Now. Please,” Sherlock said quietly. “Please.”

Understanding dawned on John’s face, quickly replaced by warmth, affection and love. He gently extricated his hand from Sherlock’s vice like grip, and held Sherlock’s face between his hands.

“Sherlock,” John said his name with so much love Sherlock felt his throat constrict and his eyes sting. John leaned in kissed the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, his thumbs gently caressing Sherlock’s cheekbones. “I love you,” he whispered into Sherlock’s mouth, and even after hearing it countless times it still made Sherlock breathless with happiness and wonder.

Sherlock wrapped his arm around John’s waist and pressed them closer together, nuzzling his nose against John’s and mouthing “I love you” back to him.

John leaned back a little to look into Sherlock’s eyes. He could barely make them out in the dark, what little light there was from the stars giving them an unearthly appearance.

“Sherlock, will you marry me?”

Sherlock released something between a hiccough and a sob, his vision going blurry. He felt John lean in close again and he closed his eyes, breathing John’s scent and the smells of the summer night.

“Will you marry me?”

Sherlock couldn’t speak, couldn’t possibly trust himself to make a sound so instead he kissed John. He kissed him like his entire life depended on it, and in a way it did; he kissed him like he never wanted to be parted from him, and he didn’t.

“Marry me,” John whispered against Sherlock’s lips, his hands caressing Sherlock’s sides and slipping under his shirt to touch bare skin. Sherlock clung to him, throwing a leg over both of John’s and clutching fistfuls of John’s shirt, kissing him in answer.

“Yes,” Sherlock finally croaked out. “Yes, yes, yesyes _yes_.”

They kissed hungrily and passionately for minutes, hours, days, years; until their lips were swollen and they could do nothing more than breathe each other’s air. Time felt endless in the darkness, with stars burning and falling above them.


End file.
